The Legends of Orkney

by Alane Adams

  Galatin eased the boat into the channel. The air was crisp, and a light snow had recently fallen. Keely was grateful for the fur coat and comfortable deerskin boots she wore.

  The docks were surprisingly deserted. A few ships bobbed, but the walkways were empty, as if everyone had left.

  “Was it this quiet last time?” Leo asked as Galatin led them up the hill.

  Keely shook her head, uneasy. They couldn’t be too late. They just couldn’t.

  Leo took her hand and squeezed it. “Don’t worry; everything is going to be fine.”

  Keely very much wanted to believe that, but as they crested the top, winded and out of breath, she gasped. The Vanirian army that had taken up ranks in the large arena, filling the barracks and the stands, was gone.

  They stood looking down at the empty practice grounds.

  “Maybe they’re out on a training mission,” Leo said.

  “All of them?” Keely asked. “No, we’re too late. Loki’s beat us to it.”

  “Not all of them.” Galatin nodded at an approaching rider. It was a Vanirian soldier, an older one, by the looks of it. Gray hair came past his shoulders, but he sat up ramrod straight on his horse. Vanirian horses were as big as Clydes-dales, with well-muscled legs to hold their oversized riders.

  He stopped in front of them and eyed them from atop his mount. “I know you,” he pointed to Keely. “You are the Eifalian girl. You should not have returned here.” He looked back over his shoulder to see if anyone else was coming. “Leave now, or I cannot guarantee your safety.”

  Keely stepped forward, putting her hand on his horse. “Please, where is Joran? The king is a friend to us. He mustn’t go to war with the Eifalians.”

  “Joran is no friend of yours, child,” he said bitterly, pulling his horse sharply away. “And it’s the Eifalians that have declared war on us. They will pay for their treachery.”

  Behind him, the sound of more horses clattering over the bridge had him turning away. “I warned you. You should have left when you had the chance.”

  A group of Vanirian soldiers rode up in a swarm, their faces angry masks. Keely was confused. They grabbed the visitors roughly, jostling them and shoving them. “I don’t understand,” she cried. “Why are you acting this way?”

  “Keely!” Leo shouted. He reached for her, but a frost giant twisted her arms behind her back. When Leo struck out at one, the giant simply swatted him away and lofted him over his shoulder. Galatin drew his sword, then lowered it. He was surrounded by three of them.

  Another horse rode up, pushing its way forward. A woman’s voice called out, “What is going on here?”

  Keely recognized the regal figure. It was the queen, Joran’s wife. Keely wriggled free from the slackened grasp of the frost giant. “Your Highness, why have you gone to war against the Eifalians?”

  The queen’s eyes flicked over her, then widened in recognition. “Come, this is better said inside the walls of the keep. I promise you no harm will come to you.” She snapped out orders to her men. Leo was set down, and the giants sheathed their weapons.

  As they entered the main plaza, the streets were mostly empty. A few women and children hurried along. Except for the group that had ridden out to harass them, everyone left was either old, young, or female.

  Keely’s anxiety grew with every step. What had Loki done to make Joran break their treaty with the Eifalians? And was it too late to stop him?

  They were shown into a large salon with comfortable chairs and colorful throw rugs. Galatin stood guard at the door. Leo slumped down in a chair that was so big his feet barely reached the ground.

  Everything inside the palace was sized for a frost giant. The broad sofa covered in velvety brocade would seat eight men comfortably. The ceilings were painted with a fresco of bare-chested frost giants locked in an ancient battle against some fearsome winged beasts.

  Keely walked to the open window, drawn by the noises outside. In the garden, two kids were laughing and playing. She smiled, seeing the mischievous glint in the boy’s eyes as he teased his little sister with a ball he kept just out of reach. These must be Joran’s children. They had his chin and their mother’s coloring.

  The door opened, and they all turned, bowing as the queen entered. She was tall and big-boned but still graceful.

  “Please, sit; you have had a long journey.”

  Keely perched on a seat to her right. “Your Highness—” she began, but the queen cut her off.

  “Call me Reesa. We are not so formal here.”

  “Reesa, I’m Keely. These are my friends Leo and Galatin.”

  Reesa’s slim eyebrow arched high as she looked at the soldier. “As I recall, last time you were here, you nearly lost your head.”

  Galatin bowed. “I hope to keep it this time as well. The Vanir proved steadfast friends to Orkney in our time of greatest need.”

  “But at what price?” Reesa probed. “We lost many men that day to those awful Balfin creatures.”

  Galatin stepped forward. “And for that we are deeply sorry. I have no wish to be rude, but time is of the essence. What have the Eifalians done to deserve your ire? Surely it is a time for healing.”

  The queen’s face grew dark, and her eyes went to the window, where the children could still be heard playing. “You remember the son that I lost?” she said quietly, turning to face Keely.

  Keely nodded. “Yes. When I was with Ymir, he gave me a flute that belonged to him.”

  Reesa reached to her throat and drew out the small carving. It hung on a long silver chain around her neck. “My son, Jorri, was my life. When he was lost, I thought my life would end. But then I was blessed with another son, Kaleb, and then a daughter, Madilyn.” Her eyes fluttered closed as she gripped the flute. “They brought me back to life and gave me reason to live again. Joran, too, became filled with joy and smiled once more. But then that man came and threatened us.” Her eyes snapped open, and Keely could read the fierceness there.

  “What man?” Keely asked.

  “Leyes.” Reesa said his name like it was poison.

  Chapter 11

  Keely and Leo exchanged puzzled looks. “Surely you don’t mean Leyes of the Eifalians?” Leo said. “He is the gentlest of souls. What trouble could he have caused you?”

  “Trouble?” The queen rose out of her chair and began pacing. “He tried to kill my son. Lured him away from his nanny and then took him through the woods. The boy was nearly lost in the snow. We searched for him for hours. It was only by luck that we found him before . . . before he froze to death.” Her voice choked up. “I could not have survived losing another child. Joran was beside himself. Kaleb told us of the man who dressed as a woman and tricked him into following him.”

  “And you’re sure that man was Leyes?” Galatin asked. “When was this?”

  “Three days ago. He had the white hair of the Eifalians and gave his name as such.”

  “My lady”—Galatin drew closer and bowed—“I swear to you, on my honor, that man was not Leyes.”

  She held herself very still as she faced him. “How can you be so sure?”

  “Because three days ago he was in Skara Brae meeting with the High Council to discuss the pending invasion of Surt’s army.”

  “Surt?” Now it was her turn to look puzzled. “The fire giants are banished to Musspell. They have not ventured into Orkney in a thousand years.”

  “Not while Odin was alive,” Galatin said.

  Her face dawned with realization. “Of course. Odin made sure Surt and his kind never troubled mankind. But you offer no proof. It might not have been Leyes, but there is no doubt he was Eifalian. My son’s description was very vivid. He described his eyes, his face, his hair.”

  “May we speak with him?” Keely asked. “Maybe there is an explanation, some way to make sense of this.”

  The queen hesitated, then nodded. “Yes, I will bring him in.”

  She went to the window and called out. The boy came bounding in, his
face flushed red from running about in the cold. He was almost as big as Keely, but his face had the rounded features of a young child. He gave his mother a hug, looping his arms around her waist, looking suddenly shy as he saw the four of them.

  He said something to her in their language, but she chided him.

  “Speak English, Kaleb. Say hello.”

  “Hello,” he said shyly before looking up at the queen and whispering loudly, “Who are they, Mama?”

  She took his hand and led him over to the sofa where they were seated. She pulled him up on her lap so that he faced Keely and Leo. “They are friends. They would like to talk to you about what happened.”

  “You mean that day?” He looked frightened.

  She nodded, brushing the hair off his forehead. “You must be brave and tell them everything, starting with the moment you wandered off.”

  “It was the bird, Mama, the mockingbird. It came to our window and hopped on my finger. Papa said we couldn’t keep it. Then the next day, it was in a tree, but every time I went to touch it, it flew off. I followed it, but it disappeared, and I was all alone. I called out to Nanna, and then she was there.”

  “What do you mean, there?” Keely asked.

  “She came around a tree and took my hand and led me away. I thought we were coming home, but she wouldn’t speak, and then I got scared.”

  Keely turned sharply toward Leo. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

  He nodded, his eyes gaunt with guilt.

  “What?” Reesa commanded. “Tell me.”

  “The bird wasn’t a bird,” Keely said confidently.

  “And that man wasn’t Leyes,” Leo added.

  “Then who was it?” Reesa looked from one to the other.

  They said the name together. “Loki.”

  She frowned, puzzled. “Loki, the mischief-maker? But he’s been banished to the underworld for a millennium.”

  “He tricked me into releasing him,” Leo explained.

  “Loki can shape-shift,” Keely added. “He can take the form of any animal or person, but he is especially fond of birds.”

  “But why?” Reesa asked. “Why harm my son?”

  “Don’t you see?” Keely said, sitting forward. “He didn’t want to hurt Kaleb; he just wanted you to think that the Eifalians did, so you would go after them. Loki is out to start a war. He’s punishing everyone in Orkney for what Odin did to him.”

  Reesa’s frown grew deeper. “If what you say is true, then my husband is about to slaughter an innocent kingdom.”

  “My lady, is it too late to stop them, call them back?” Galatin asked. “We can send word to him.”

  “None he will listen to. Unless he hears it from my own lips, he won’t withdraw. He is too proud, and he has lost too much.”

  “Then we must go after him. How long before his men reach Ter Glenn?”

  “They left a day ago. Three days more, I would guess.”

  “Is there any way to get there ahead of them?” Keely asked. “What if we sailed?”

  “No. The tides are against you. It would take too long. Your only chance would be to take a coastal route. It is more direct, but the way is narrow and open, which is why Joran went over the mountain pass. I can draw you a map to follow. You might catch them before they arrive, but it will be close.”

  Keely frowned. “You’re not coming with us?”

  The queen shook her head. “I am sorry; I cannot leave my children. They are unprotected here. We have only a few of my private guards who are bound to remain at my side and some old men too feeble to go to battle. They would be left with no one to protect them.”

  “I can stay,” Galatin offered. “I would protect them with my life.”

  The queen caught her knuckle between her teeth, warring emotions on her face. After a long moment, she sighed. She bent down to look Kaleb in the eye. “I must go, my son. That means you are in charge of the kingdom.”

  His eyes grew large. “What should I do?”

  “Be brave, be wise, be kind. Take care of your people. This man will guard you with his life.”

  The boy looked up at Galatin with a pinched look on his face, then whispered loudly, “But he’s so small.”

  Everyone laughed because Galatin was a large man to any but a frost giant.

  Galatin bowed to the boy. “I might be small to you, young prince, but my sword is big enough to carve up any beast.”

  “I take lessons in sword fighting,” the boy boasted. “Will you teach me?”

  Galatin tapped his sword to his forehead, “Your wish is my command.” Over the boy’s head, he nodded at the queen. “He will be safe, Your Highness. I swear it on my life.”

  In a matter of an hour, they were suited up on horses with provisions to last them the journey. They were traveling light, with only a few weapons and bedrolls. The horses were fresh. Reesa had six of her men with her, burly frost giants with bare chests crossed with leather straps that held their fearsome blades.

  The sun was high in the sky, but the day was cold. A light frost covered the ground. Exhilaration soared through Keely as she held on to the broad waist of a Vanirian soldier. Everything would be okay. They just had to get to Ter Glenn before Joran. The Vanirian king would listen to reason. She would make him see he was making a huge mistake.

  Chapter 12

  In the days of the ancient gods, Surt had walked among many of the greatest. From Odin to Frey to even that lowest of imps, Loki. In those years, he had always been treated as a stepchild, a second son, someone to be ignored. Impugned. Someone who had no voice. Now that time had changed. No longer would he be silent. No longer would he be shuttled to the outer regions of Musspell, where not a single blade of grass dared show its sprout.

  The fiery-red skies over Musspell were dotted with Surt’s army of flying beasts. They were known as boercats, giant saber-toothed animals with leathery wings that spanned two of his men. They belched fire that could incinerate entire armies. Red and yellow scales covered muscled legs that could run down their victims, and the set of jutting fangs that curved out from their jaws could rip flesh apart.

  The patrols he had sent to every corner of Orkney were returning. Soon he would have his proof the veil that had kept him prisoner all these years was down. Proof Odin was truly gone. Then Surt would not hesitate to crush every living creature in this world, and any world beyond.

  A crowd of troops had gathered in the wide square below him. Musspell was made of plain stone buildings carved out of the volcanic rock from the many slaves who toiled for him. Slave or soldier; those were the only two choices in life. Fight or work. Male or female, it didn’t matter. There were no roles assigned based on gender, only what was clawed for. It had taken centuries to unite this kingdom under his leadership. Rebellions still sprouted in the outer regions where the fire giants battled for control with each other, bloody battles where no one emerged a winner. Surt encouraged it because it kept his soldiers hungry and battle-ready.

  Surveying his legions below, the lord of the fire giants swelled with pride. They were chanting his name so that it rose like an ugly song from them, beating their chests with iron-wrapped fists and stomping their boots.

  So what if it had taken centuries? Finally, the moment of victory was at hand. He would have liked to have been the one to crush the life out of Odin, but he didn’t let that bother him. Odin’s end was a thing of the past. The future was what mattered.

  Stepping out into sight, Surt raised his hand for silence.

  A hush fell over the battle-hardened soldiers.

  “Brothers and sisters, how long have we waited for this day? For how many centuries have we been under Odin’s thumb?”

  The crowd roared with anger. Somewhere below, a burning effigy of Odin was raised.

  “We stand on the edge of victory. As we make our final preparations for our journey across the sea, know this: One day, the fire giants will rule all of Orkney. Every living creature will bow to our strength. We w
ill not be defeated. We will not be stopped. Victory will be ours!”

  Surt’s voice rose as he spoke until he was shouting the last words. Cheers erupted, and the warriors began pounding their spears into the ground so that the earth shook with their rage.

  Surt waved and backed away, heading back into his council chambers.

  Throwing his helmet onto the table, he grabbed a chalice and gulped down the contents, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Three of his generals stood before him. “What news do you bring me?” he asked. “Did you find the proof? Is Odin really dead? What are their armaments like?”

  The soldier on the end, Lukas, an ugly beast of a giant with a face like a bull, stepped forward and laid a green swath of grass on the table. “The mischief-maker told the truth. The veil is down. We surveyed the western coastline. Odin’s dead and gone. You could smell it in the wind. Not an ounce of his magic remains.” He stepped back. Surt nodded at him, fingering the velvety grass in awe. How many centuries since he had touched greenery like this?

  Bellac, a vicious female with two black ponytails sprouting from the top of her otherwise-bald pate, swaggered forward. A twisted scar marred her left cheek. Surt had given her that in a combat trial, and Bellac had proudly refused to stitch it up. Her teeth were capped in metal, and they glinted in the light as she growled out her report. “We flew the eastern coastline, lord. Burned seven Falcory villages to the ground. No sign of resistance or weapons, sire. They are feeble and weak.”

  Surt nodded, excitement growing as he continued on to Arek, his second-in-command. “You have studied their strongholds?”

  Arek was smaller than the others but just as brutal. Surt had once seen him wrestle a feral boercat to the ground, placing the animal in a chokehold until it collapsed.

  Arek spread out on the table a map that showed the isles of Orkney. The general put a finger on the island marked Garamond. “Once we take their capital city of Skara Brae, we will shatter their hold on the realm.” He moved his finger to a smaller island. “The witches on Balfour Island will not come to Orkney’s aid so soon after they were defeated.” He moved his finger north. “Rakim is ruled by our brothers, the Vanir.”